


descanso: in memoriam

by 97babys (gyukooks)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Childhood Friends, Exes to Lovers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, a little.. they're just rly dependent on each other, and sometimes flashbacks IN flashbacks., childhood best friends to lovers to exes to lovers ?, i love kim mingyu a lot, love me a small town vibe, told in flashbacks, treehouses as metaphors for intimate deep ambiguous relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyukooks/pseuds/97babys
Summary: Mingyu isn’t supposed to be waiting for him, isn’t supposed to be here, but Minghao knew he would be, just as Mingyu knew Minghao would be. It was almost a mindless thing, the way Minghao got home, had dinner with his parents, then immediately got into his dad’s car and drove here. Because, what else would he do? At one point, this was all he did. All he wanted to do. Sit in this treehouse with Mingyu, and pretend nothing else in the world mattered. It didn’t really.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	descanso: in memoriam

**Author's Note:**

> just quick note this is set in the us! + they are both 18 in the mature scene !
> 
> fic ost is hayley williams' album flowers for vases ! 
> 
> i HIGHLY HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you listen to it as you read. i completely based this fic off of this album and just listening to it writing literally mindlessly as i went so !!!!! AND AND and read the lyrics if you can as well. it really really enhances the whole experience i swear.
> 
> [spotify link](https://open.spotify.com/album/3JSvIZCtxK4fUywBK41129?si=FCRXzx0jT5-KWWOPC-HeLg) [youtube link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nL_KR0oMUbY&list=PLqEfeecikPuicRge5_QrVKjWjnmARgJ9) [link to lyrics](https://genius.com/albums/Hayley-williams/Flowers-for-vases-descansos) see look i'm even handing it to you

Everything’s changed, and yet, nothing’s different, Minghao thinks, looking out at the deserted field, reeds swaying gently, almost rhythmically in the warm July breeze. The dirt road beneath his feet is all too familiar, everything about the scene in front of him is familiar, in an unsettling way. 

The moon is out tonight, half of it hidden behind the clouds, but illuminant all the same, casting a muted white across the field, the light catching on the dark leaves of the gigantic tree looming over Minghao’s much smaller figure. The treehouse sits on one of the lower branches, untouched since he last sat in it nearly over a year ago. The rope ladder swings in time with the reeds, back and forth, back and forth. 

Minghao shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shuddering as a sudden wave of chill passes over him, despite it being the peak of summer. He glances over his shoulder, at his dad’s Jeep, parked behind a dark green truck, that, just like everything else about this moment, is all too familiar. He briefly considers turning around, climbing back into his car, driving out of the field, back home to the home he barely considers home anymore. It’s an uncharacteristic feeling of self preservation, knowing that whatever is waiting for him in the treehouse is sure to hurt him in a way nothing else can. After all, the owner of the truck, the person who’s shared every valuable moment with him in this town, is the only person who can truly hurt him in a way that will leave him unwhole. He always has. 

He lets out a sigh of resignation, throwing all doubts out the window, and makes his way through the field to the base of the tree. Climbing the ladder is like second nature, the grooves and bumps on the rope fitting perfectly into the faded calluses scattered all over his palms. He pushes aside the curtain serving as the entrance, crawling inside, to see Mingyu at the other side, facing away from him, looking out the window, moonlight falling elegantly across his features.

Everything’s changed, and yet, nothing’s different. This is something Minghao’s experienced only about a million times. Except, at one point, it was scooters, then rollerblades, at one point, then bikes, instead of cars out on the road. And Mingyu would never be waiting for him, they’d always go together to their treehouse, always by each other’s side. Rightfully by each other’s side.

Mingyu isn’t supposed to be waiting for him, isn’t supposed to be here, but Minghao knew he would be, just as Mingyu knew Minghao would be. It was almost a mindless thing, the way Minghao got home, had dinner with his parents, then immediately got into his dad’s car and drove here. Because, what else would he do? At one point, this was all he did. All he wanted to do. Sit in this treehouse with Mingyu, and pretend nothing else in the world mattered. It didn’t really.

\---

“Come home before sunset! Don’t go too far!” his mother calls, as he waves her off, climbing on his rusting red scooter, riding aimlessly down the street, destination unknown, as it always is within the childish imagination that knows no boundaries. 

The scenes in front of Minghao are foreign, but welcoming, he thinks. The trees are much larger in this town than they were in his old town, which has been easily forgotten as he rides into a small forest. There were no forests in his old town. He recalls the story his mother read to him when he was smaller, the Magic Faraway Tree, he remembers, and he thinks, if he closes his eyes, he can hear the trees around him whispering secrets to each other. And if he squints harder, if he really tries, he can understand them, learn their messages and stories, befriend them, build his own Enchanted Forest in this unknown town that he can’t quite call home yet. 

He continues riding, down the dirt path just big enough for a car, more than big enough for Minghao and his scooter. Eventually, he reaches a field, vast and promising. His leg is starting to get tired, so he ends up walking beside his scooter, along the road that’s flanked by what seems like miles and miles of reeds.

In the distance, he sees a cluster of trees, another small section of forest. His eyes light up with anticipation as he hops back on the scooter, riding eagerly towards the unexplored land, imagining it to be a new region of the Enchanted Forest, perhaps the Land of Take-What-You-Want or, more fearfully, the Land of Topsy-Turvy. As he approaches the woods, he notices another scooter half submerged into the field, rusted and worn like Minghao’s, but a more brilliant blue. He tilts his head to the side, before he looks up at the trees, finally registering the small treehouse perched upon one of the largest tree’s branches. 

Now, with the knowledge of another person potentially inhabiting his space, _his_ Enchanted Forest, Minghao hesitantly treads through the reeds to the base of the tree, nervously grabbing onto the rope as he climbs up, wincing at the roughness of the material. There’s nothing guarding the entrance, so he crawls in slowly, startling when he sees another boy sitting cross legged by the window, holding some fabric and a needle, biting his lip as he works string through the fabric, which is encased in a wooden circle of sorts. 

The boy, after some time actually, looks up and yelps, falling backwards when he sees Minghao. He cries out in pain, and holds up a bleeding finger, pierced by the needle. Minghao looks at him in alarm, unsure what to do, feeling as if he should just climb down and run away because he has just caused this boy to _injure_ himself. But the boy seems like he doesn’t know what to do either, just stares down at his bleeding index finger, which is now starting to drip onto the wood of the floor, staining it as the blood gets absorbed. 

Minghao bites his lip and crawls over, untying the bandana he has around his wrist. He forcibly takes the boy’s hand into his own, and gently, but tightly wraps it around his finger. The boy just stares at him as Minghao tends to his wound. 

“I don’t have a bandaid or anything, but I think that should do for now,” Minghao says once he’s finished. 

“T-thanks,” the boy whispers back. “I’m Mingyu, by the way, Mingyu Kim. I’m eight.”

“I’m Minghao, I’m eight too. Is this treehouse yours?” Mingyu shakes his head, before slowly looking around the expanse of the treehouse. It’s not very spacious, and there’s not much inside, just a woven rug and two beanbag chairs which are even more worn down than the boys’ scooters.

“No, I found it a few years ago, and no one else comes here, so, I just kinda use it for myself. Um, do you live around here? I haven’t seen you before.” It’s Minghao’s turn to shake his head, as he looks down at his fingers, fumbling with them nervously. 

“We just moved, I’m new, this year.” Mingyu nods, pensively. To Minghao’s surprise, he claps him on the shoulder, smiling at him. It’s warm, wholehearted, earnest, Minghao feels privileged to be on the receiving end of that smile. He can’t describe it now, imagination wide yet words limited, but looking back, he thinks it’s like the first days of spring, the frost receding after what always feels like an eternal winter, the birds chirping in the morning and the flowers blooming all bringing hopes of brighter days along with them. 

“No big. I’ve heard a lot of people say fourth grade is like when everyone starts over, so it’ll be like _everyone’s_ new,” Mingyu says.

“Who says that?” Minghao asks, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Mingyu’s expression twists guiltily, and he smiles up at Minghao through his lashes.

“Well, no one really, but I do, and I think as your new friend, that should mean something.” Minghao looks up to meet his gaze, eyes shining hopefully.

“Friend? We’re friends?” he asks. Mingyu nods enthusiastically, his jet black hair flopping across his forehead endearingly.

“Of course. You saved my life, Minghao,” he says dramatically, holding up his finger, loosely wrapped in the bandana. Minghao winces at the sight of his shoddy job, before rolling his eyes.

“It was a tiny prick with, like, the smallest of needles!” Mingyu giggles in response to Minghao’s retort, and Minghao really, really wants to make him do that again. He has found himself in the Enchanted Forest, Mingyu’s giggles resembling the sound he thinks fairies make, as they twinkle through the leaves of the Faraway Tree, leaving glitter and joy in their wake. “What were you doing anyway?”

“Cross stitching this pillow for my grandma! I’m president of the cross stitching club at school,” Mingyu says proudly, puffing out his chest, holding out his half finished project. Minghao nods.

“That’s really cool,” he says, honestly. Mingyu beams at the praise, smiling so widely at Minghao that it’s almost stifling. But it’s not, it’s warm and comfortable, enjoyable, just like the rest of Mingyu. 

They talk for a little while longer: favorite flavors of cupcakes, favorite Spongebob episode, least favorite crayon color, all important things to know about a new friend, of course. Halfway through an engaging debate over the best High School Musical song, Minghao looks over Mingyu’s shoulder and out the window to see the sky taking on the slightest shade of pink, jumping up in alarm. Mingyu stands up with him, eyes wide. “Shoot! It’s almost sunset, I gotta get home,” he says. Mingyu nods.

“Me too, my mom is gonna be super mad if I’m late, _again_ ,” Mingyu says, sheepishly. They help each other climb down the rope, running towards their scooters, piled on top of each other. Mingyu holds his next to Minghao’s excitedly, pointing back and forth between them.

“Look, we match!” Mingyu exclaims. Minghao tilts his head in confusion.

“But, they’re different colors.” Mingyu rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Well, yeah, _dummy_ , but everyone knows that red and blue are like, complimentary colors,” he says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Minghao pouts.

“You’re the dummy, dummy,” he replies, crossing his arms. Mingyu grins and climbs on his scooter.

“Race you to the end of the road, dummy!” he cries before kicking off, the intensity of his push causing dust to fly into the air. Minghao yells in indignance, as he follows Mingyu, who’s laughing loudly, head thrown back, laughter carrying through the field, no obstacles in its way. 

\---

Minghao studies Mingyu’s expression, taking in the features of his face in a newfound light. He was handsome the last time they saw each other, and somehow, he’s even more handsome now. His jaw, his nose, his lips, his eyebrows all curve arfully, even more beautifully so in the moonlight. Or, perhaps, Minghao is just terribly biased. The golden tone of his skin is indiscernible in the dark, but the glow is there all the same, reflecting in his eyes too, forever shining with warmth, just as they did the afternoon Minghao first met him. The only time Minghao had ever traveled to the treehouse alone. He likes to think Mingyu had been waiting for him then too, although neither of them knew it. 

Mingyu is clutching his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around them. Minghao notices he’s taken the bandana off, heart dropping slightly at the sight of Mingyu’s bare left wrist glaring back at him. He doesn’t know what he expected, doesn’t know why he’s so devastated over something Mingyu was bound to do. Mingyu was still wearing it the last time they saw each other, the piece of Minghao he carries around with him like another limb. But with it gone, forgotten in some corner of his bedroom, or even in a dumpster (he doesn’t want to consider _that_ possibility), Minghao feels wholly disconnected from the boy in front of him, even more than he did when they were thousands of miles apart.

He forces himself to pull his gaze away from Mingyu’s face, and his eyes fall absentmindedly on the floor of the treehouse, just next to where Mingyu was sitting, the small, tiny drop of blood lingering in the wood. It serves as a reminder of some sorts, of where they’ve started and how they’ve ended up. The reminder is not a friendly one. 

Mingyu doesn’t say anything as Minghao sits down, a considerable distance away from him. Even sitting, Mingyu’s head is nearly grazing the ceiling, thanks to his sophomore year growth spurt. Minghao wouldn’t be surprised if he’d grown even more since last summer, their last summer. 

Minghao chooses not to say anything either, because he doesn’t really know _what_ to say. Everything’s been left unsaid, and yet, there’s nothing they haven’t said. Utter silence seems the most fitting for this particular moment, the two of them deciding to just exist in each other’s presence, uncomfortable, and overwhelming. 

At one point, it would’ve been unimaginable. Truthfully, at pretty much every point before last August, it would’ve been that way. Mingyu is talkative, always having something to say, but when they were in the treehouse, he always chose to fall into silence, something he did with no one else but Minghao.

\---

Minghao slams his pencil down onto the notebook, and closes it with a groan, banging his head down onto the floor, causing the entire treehouse to shake. Mingyu lets out a sharp inhale, and glares over at him. The sudden movement had made him mess up his stitch, now he’d have to start that particular flower _all over again_.

“Algebra is _shit_ ,” Minghao says. Mingyu’s eyes widen, and he slaps at Minghao’s hand scoldingly. 

“Don’t _curse_ , Hao.” 

“We’re in eighth grade, Mingyu, everyone curses, except you.” Mingyu nods, proudly. 

“Exactly, and I don’t intend to start.” Minghao rolls his eyes, but secretly thinks it’s endearing. Mingyu doesn’t do anything if he doesn’t want to, no matter who tells him he should. He’s _still_ president of the cross stitching club, and if he were anyone other than Mingyu Kim, he’d be bullied endlessly for it. But, Mingyu is nothing but loveable, expressing joy and sunshine with his every word and action, making everyone at school who is lucky enough to be in his presence fall madly in love with him, doing everything they can to keep his attention for as long as possible.

Mingyu doesn’t do anything if he doesn’t want to, which is exactly why he’s still friends with Minghao, despite all of his “cool friends” telling him Minghao is definitely _not_ cool enough to hang out with them. Mingyu, to Minghao’s surprise and elation, always tells them off, opting to spend time with Minghao in the treehouse instead of somewhere, Minghao thinks, is much more interesting, like their pools. 

But Mingyu doesn’t care about pool parties, or meeting girls, he cares about this, about spending time with Minghao, he’s told Minghao as much on numerous occasions when asked why he always passes up those golden opportunities, and so, Minghao doesn’t really think it’s all that surprising at all. It’s so Mingyu, to be loyal, devoted to Minghao and their friendship. Minghao is grateful for it everyday.

Mingyu turns back to his project, yet, not a few moments later, he hesitantly sets it down, feeling bad as he watches Minghao visibly struggle. He crawls over to where Minghao has belly flopped onto the floor, math notebook abandoned in the corner. “What problem are you on? I’ll help.”

Sometime during the makeshift tutoring session, Minghao directs his attention from the mindless math over to Mingyu’s face. They’re at that _strange_ stage, where everyone in the gym locker room is starting to talk about which girls are cute, what scent of Axe body spray they should use to get a girl to like them back. But Minghao seriously cannot tell what exactly _makes_ a girl cute, no matter how many times Mingyu has tried to explain to him. Instead, he finds himself preferring to study Mingyu’s face, appreciating the way the boy is starting to come into his features. 

Minghao’s mom often coos at Mingyu, telling him how handsome he’s starting to get, and Minghao can’t help but agree, always teasing his best friend that he should quit school and become a model. The comments always get a cute flush out of Mingyu, making Minghao want to say them more, and more, and more. Making Mingyu blush, giggle, laugh, happy in any way is addicting, and Minghao has been hooked since he was eight years old. 

“So then, you just isolate x, so divide the 4 by the 9, and you get x equals four ninths. Got it?” Mingyu says. Minghao stares blankly down at the paper, not knowing how _any_ of that writing got there. He nods anyway, but Mingyu narrows his eyes and shoves at Minghao’s shoulder.

“You weren’t listening at _all_ , were you, loser!” he shouts, but he’s laughing as he does. Minghao scoffs, and shoves back, and the two of them end up wrestling each other in the middle of the treehouse, math homework completely forgotten. Their laughs echo from the treehouse out into the field, picked up by the reeds, always swaying back and forth, back and forth. 

There’s more in the treehouse now, some of their school things. books, portable CD player with a few discs stacked next to it, two mason jars for firefly catching, a significant amount of snack bags, camping lamps, Mingyu’s cross stitching materials. It’s all clattering about as the two of them rock the treehouse, knocking against the walls and other objects. 

When the treehouse gives a particularly concerning lurch, they pause, eyes wide at each other. Minghao suddenly registers their position; Mingyu underneath him as he’s perched on his lap, grabbing at his wrist, right on top of where the bandana, Minghao’s bandana, is tied tightly around the lithe limb, Minghao holding it in the air. He feels himself flush a deep red, before climbing off, turning away from the other boy. Mingyu sits up with a laugh, leaning against his forearms. When Minghao doesn’t turn back around, he makes a small noise of confusion. 

“Hao? Are you okay?” Minghao looks over his shoulder with a weak smile, heart stuttering in his chest as he takes in the sight of Mingyu, breathless, cheeks flushed with slight exertion. His hair is getting slightly too long, bangs fanning across his forehead, eyes wide, _always_ shining. And _oh_ , Minghao thinks, he’s cute. Minghao thinks he’s cute, in the way _all_ the girls at their school think he’s cute. Minghao doesn’t think he’s supposed to be thinking that.

Minghao nearly gasps out loud in alarm at the revelation, heart beating way too fast for his body to be able to keep up. He nods urgently, a little too enthusiastically, before quickly sweeping his notebook into his backpack. “I, I gotta be home. Now.” Mingyu frowns.

“But it’s like, four?” Mingyu says, frown transforming into a pout that Minghao can almost never say no to. Almost, because the thoughts racing through his mind, the thoughts he doesn’t know what to do with, the thoughts of anyone finding out, of Mingyu finding out, about these _new_ feelings he holds in his heart are the most terrifying things in the world. Minghao needs to get _out_ of there. Minghao shrugs, unable to even form a proper sentence, and races down the ladder, nearly stumbling on the last rung, darting to his bike, fast enough that Mingyu wouldn’t be able to keep up with him.

The wind whips through his hair as he rides down the road, clumsily, way too fast for the incline he’s going at. The front wheel of his bike catches on a stray stone in the middle of the road, and he yelps as he falls forward, grazing both of his knees against the rough dirt. He rolls into a sitting position, examining the bloody wounds across his knees, wincing at the way they sting when he stretches out his leg. He lets out a sigh in defeat, sitting in the middle of the road amongst the trees he’d always thought to be magical when he was a kid.

He wishes they could whisper to them now, so they could tell him how to navigate this, the feelings he’s not supposed to be feeling, and how to get them out of his head. 

Minghao has always felt inordinary, terribly out of place, forever the new kid even after spending years in this town. Mingyu is the only person in the world, besides his parents, who made him feel welcome, normal, cared for. Was, because now, he can’t look at his best friend without wanting to push him down and kiss him breathless, and that is a feeling that makes him feel more inordinary than ever before. 

He sits on the road, clutching his scraped his knees to his chest, bike laying dejectedly on the side next to him, and begins to cry, soft sobs carrying up into the the treetops, absorbed by the gentle sounds of the tree branches brushing up against each other, like whispers, of something sacred, something magical, yet something hauntingly forlorn.

\---

The silence is starting to feel unbearably uncomfortable, nothing but the sounds of Minghao and Mingyu’s breathing, not harmonious, like it used to be, but slightly off beat, slightly irregular, the shift in their relationship evident down to their cores. 

Faintly, Minghao wonders if he can hear something of a flatline, the indication of something ending in the most morbid of ways. The feeling is calamitous to every cell in Minghao’s body, wanting nothing more than to salvage, to revive, to _solve_ , but it feels like he’s staring at a corpse, as he stares at the distance between Mingyu and him, the gap that carries a million words, yet none of them are spoken.

The realization that Minghao hasn’t heard Mingyu speak in nearly a year is startling. It’s not a sudden awareness, just one of those facts that’s quite obvious, that lingers as just a given thing that one doesn’t really need to think about, like clouds being gray and water blue. But, nonetheless, it’s surprising to Minghao, who finds himself wondering if he’s perhaps forgotten what Mingyu sounds like, unable to hear his voice ringing through his head, like it always used to. Mingyu used to be the only thing he thought about, the only person’s voice he wanted to hear, the raspiness that emerged as they got older, but the lisp he maintained since childhood.

He wonders if it’s gone now, and he realizes that scares him, losing that last bit of their childhood encapsulated in the way Mingyu’s tongue caught on to certain syllables. It’s bizarre, really, how much he can link to the profound and devastating feelings that curl through him. 

Memories are golden, Minghao thinks, shining through the clouds of reality, the present moment always seeming grim in comparison to what once was. Yet, he can’t help but remember that, it had felt that same way then too, they’d always had something to worry about, something to be nostalgic about. Is there ever a most beautiful time in one’s life, that they recognize when they’re actually in it?

Everything seemed better then, better in the safe confines of high school, real world far off and unthinkable. But, Minghao knows it wasn’t, knows better than to romanticize a time where the most somber of feelings plagued him every day. 

He doesn’t know what’s worse, living in uncertainty as he did then, or living in the aftermath, the unsettling, horrendous calm after the storm that’s not calm in the slightest, but rather a reality he’s been forced to accept. Is it better to be anxiously waiting to feel the pain, after realizing the inevitability of its existence, or to be actively experiencing it, knowing it was coming all along? He doesn’t think it’s any use, to be aware, never could prepare himself properly for it. Was foolish to think he could. 

The entire treehouse flounders when the wind gives an especially intense push, the structure of the whole, awfully small space threatening to collapse in on itself completely. Minghao considers it’s probably not meant to hold two grown men, one above average in every respect of the term. He takes this as a cue to leave, nature itself telling Minghao that he most definitely should not be in the same space as Mingyu anymore. As he inches slowly out through the curtain, the wooden boards creak slightly beneath him, causing Mingyu to abruptly turn around, eyes wide as he stares into Minghao’s.

Every part of Minghao is burning, wondering how he went so long without this, without the pleasure of having Mingyu’s complete attention on him. But, there’s something unsettling about the eye contact, as Minghao stares into Mingyu’s eyes, as the other boy stares into his. They’re not shining, they’re devoid of any amenity, or kindness. Minghao didn’t think that was possible, as the warmth in his veins suddenly freezes over, and he’s left feeling chilled under Mingyu’s cold, cold stare. It’s unnatural, it’s overwhelming, it’s the most unfamiliar, most inordinary thing Minghao has ever experienced in his life. 

Yet, it’s not hatred, the emotion relayed in Mingyu’s eyes. It would be undefinable, for anyone but Minghao, who, after all this time, knows Mingyu better than anyone else, something he still holds close to his chest, something he always has. 

Mingyu is looking at him with unbridled yearning. It’s not the type of feeling one experiences as a child, as a teenager, young and in love, it’s the type of yearning that is scathing, that holds the knowledge that there’s nothing at the end of the tunnel but more darkness, a fruitless, endless longing. Minghao knows that feeling all too well, has known it all of his life, felt it every single time he looks at the boy who is looking at him, now, in the exact same way.

\---

The pizza staring up at Minghao looks as miserable as he himself feels. He lets the tray clatter uselessly on the table as he climbs onto the bench next to Soonyoung, who’s happily munching away at his chicken salad sandwich. He longs to pull out the black bean noodles his mom had eagerly packed for him, but memories of pinched noses and grimaces from classmates walking by in middle school makes him pick up the piece of pizza, flopping dejectedly in his hands, grease dripping onto the tray.

“For God’s sake, just eat this,” Jihoon says, rolling his eyes, pushing half of his burrito over to Minghao, who looks up at the older with glowing eyes. Jihoon nods nonchalantly, but his look is fond as he watches Minghao scarf down the meal. 

He’s only just started sitting with the small group of juniors, Joshua next to Soonyoung and Wonwoo on the other side of Minghao. They took him under their wing, the clumsy little sophomore who dances with Soonyoung after school. He enjoys their company, Soonyoung and Joshua loud and vibrant, Wonwoo and Jihoon peaceful and quiet, a perfect mix. But, like almost everywhere else, Minghao feels subtly out of place. He’s setting off the balance by being the _third_ quiet person, missing his compliment, who’s sitting three tables down, surrounded by his usual crowd of people, bending over backwards to have that golden smile directed towards them. 

To be fair, Minghao was the one who told Mingyu he could sit with some of his other friends, despite him pouting and insisting he’d rather sit with Minghao. He doesn’t know why, as he watches Mingyu throw his head back and laugh loudly, unabashed, beautiful, exploding through the confines of the cafeteria. He seems perfectly content, more than that, over at the table with his _cooler_ friends, not once meeting Minghao’s piercing gaze. Minghao looks dejectedly down at the stub of burrito left, absentmindedly poking it with his finger. 

When he looks up, Mingyu is looking back at him, eyes bright, wide smile on his face as he waves eagerly at Minghao. Some of his friends turn around to follow his sight of vision, and frown when they see Minghao’s huddled figure, definitely deeming him not worthy of Mingyu’s precious attention. 

Everyone is always surprised when they find out Minghao and Mingyu are best friends, surprised when they find out that Mingyu associates with him at all. Despite being only a sophomore, Mingyu maintains a popular presence throughout the school, without even trying. If he was cute in middle school, he’s devastatingly handsome now, sharp lines of his face contrasting dreamily with the warmth in his smile, his eyes, his words. Besides that, he’s terribly likeable, kind to everyone he meets with no ulterior motive other than the goodness of his heart, sometimes too kind, Minghao thinks. Everything he does is wholesome, he’s like a magnet, attractive in every way.

And, opposites attract, don’t they? Minghao is forever Mingyu’s antithesis, pessimist to Mingyu’s optimist. Soonyoung once described him as prickly (“He’s not a cactus, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo had said.), hard to get to know, walls thick and unyielding. Mingyu got through them before they closed down, crashed shut, leaving only one person in his heart who was allowed to stay, allowed to understand him, know him, care for him. Minghao doesn’t mind it, never has. 

Mingyu doesn’t either, doesn’t mind that Minghao is the way he is, all of him. He ended up telling him, their freshman year, about his _feelings_ for boys (pointedly ignoring the other, more concerning half of the story), one night in the treehouse when the emotions got too much for him to bear. Mingyu had been nothing but supportive, pulling Minghao into a tight hug and whispering reassurances into his ear. The moment Minghao had pathetically focused on the most, however, was Mingyu cradling his neck in his hand, “I love you” tickling beneath his ear, the words cascading through Minghao’s entire body.

How he wished Mingyu meant it the way Minghao did. 

High school is cruel, Minghao thinks, as he watches his best friend take his rightful place as the center of everyone’s attention, the position he was born for. As he listens to his best friend absentmindedly tell him which girl put a love letter in his locker that morning (he always responds to them, letting them down gently, kindly, so earnestly that the girl can’t even be mad at him) waiting for the day that he says he’s agreed to go on a date with one of them. 

Mingyu is, literally, always within reach. All Minghao has to do is stretch out his hand across the wooden floor of their treehouse and grip onto Mingyu’s finger, keep him right there, feel his pulse in the vein at its base. Can reach out farther and graze his fingers across Mingyu’s soft cheek, and the other boy wouldn’t even think anything of it.

But Minghao watches, watches a gap begin to form, dreading the inevitable day it becomes an uncrossable abyss, when neither of them are strong enough, or willing to build a bridge. He pitifully longs for a reality that is impossible to even visualize, a future where Mingyu is still by his side, but their feelings for each other are the same, where Minghao doesn’t have to be scared every single moment of every day. It’s unattainable, and the certainty of that fact is somehow comforting, in a twisted, strange way. Hope is dangerous, hope is uncertain. Sometimes Minghao is glad he doesn’t have it.

“Why don’t you ever say yes?” Minghao says, one day, the two of them laying on their backs as they stare up at the twisting wood of the ceiling, listening to Mingyu’s indie rock playlist on his tiny iPod Shuffle. Mingyu hums in question. “To the letters, I mean, some of those girls are pretty, right? You could give them a shot.”

“It’s not about being _pretty_ ,” Mingyu says, softly. Minghao is confused, he thought that’s what it was all about, getting the prettiest girl, the cutest girl, making the guy the envy of the school as he walks hand in hand with her down the hallway. He doesn’t respond, unsure what to say, deciding to leave the conversation at that and let the instrumentals of his favorite Pixies song wash over him. 

“Would you want me to? Date someone?” Mingyu eventually asks, turning to face Minghao, intense gaze burning into the side of his neck. Minghao is taken aback by the question, by Mingyu seeming to ask for _permission_. He gives a short laugh and shrugs.

“I don’t know, dude, does it matter what I think when it’s _your_ dating life?” Minghao replies, confusedly. Mingyu lets out a deep sigh and looks back up at the ceiling, like Minghao’s just said the completely wrong thing.

“It’s the only thing that matters,” Mingyu says, no, whispers, endearingly lisp-ridden and so softly that Minghao doesn’t think he was meant to hear it. He doesn’t know what to make of it, a newfound hope blooming in his chest, and he’s sure it will get stamped out as quickly as it came, he hopes it does. Minghao closes his eyes, and smiles, relishing in it, in Mingyu’s words, while he can.

\---

They’re still staring at each other, and Minghao feels like Mingyu’s holding a gun up to his head, but his own finger is on the trigger instead of Mingyu’s, and the safety is off. It’s always off, and his eyes are closed as he thinks he can almost feel the cold metal of the barrel against his temple, waiting, waiting for Mingyu to finish it off. For the flatline to ring through the silence. But he never does, just holds the gun there, unwaveringly, the scene stagnant like a painting. Because, at the end of the day, Mingyu can’t do anything but hold it, wait for Minghao to be the one to pull the plug. Without Mingyu, Minghao would be holding onto thin air, and without Minghao, Mingyu would be absolutely harmless. It takes two to tango.

“Where are you going?” Mingyu says, and the sound of voice is lighting Minghao’s body on fire again, the deepness of his tone felt through every fiber of his bones. 

“Um, home,” Minghao replies. Mingyu says nothing, but he doesn’t look away either. It's almost like he’s anticipating something, waiting for Minghao to make the first move, for once in their lives, challenging him silently to do so. Mingyu may have done everything first, but Minghao held the control, this is something he’s come to realize only recently, spending years thinking he was trailing along behind Mingyu, who was growing and expanding all on his own, Minghao forever dependent on him. 

The entire situation feels volatile, as they look into each other’s eyes, a scene that’s just so familiar and yet, heart achingly foreign. Everything’s changed, and yet, nothing’s different. 

“D’you, maybe, want to walk with me?” he asks, nervously. Mingyu’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, his expression still mostly stoic, before, to Minghao’s surprise, and yet not at all, Mingyu nods. 

Minghao climbs down the rope first, and turns around mindlessly to help Mingyu follow him, but Mingyu ignores his hand, climbing down for himself. He retracts it slowly, pursing his lips. It’s far too easy to forget that this is where they’re at now, less than ten words spoken to each other, seven feet apart physically, but worlds away where it matters. 

They walk past the cars, onto the dirt road. The sound of another set of footsteps crunching against the ground beneath him is strangely disquieting. He’s reminded of so many things at once, memories fond yet shrouded in a thin, but awfully significant layer of bitterness. The moon has fully emerged from its sanctuary behind the clouds, illuminating their path as they walk down the expanse of the field, away from the patch of woods to the next, the refuges of their childhood. 

They’re not going home, or anywhere in particular, just walking. It’s wondrous, how things can change before one’s eyes, and all Minghao can do is watch, all he’s ever been able to do is watch, as if from a distance, behind a muted screen, his life’s events playing in front of me and he’s helpless, out of control. That’s how it felt the last time he saw Mingyu, when all the hope slipped out of his fingers like grains of sand, embedding into the dirt of the road, insignificant, and lost. 

He ran that night, ran away from Mingyu, away from their treehouse, away from the woods that had appeared to lose all of their magic. He ran so far, so far, as far as his legs could carry him, and yet, he’s found himself right back here. That’s what love does, what someone loving you does, Minghao supposes. 

And he knows it’s true, knows Mingyu still loves him, because that’s the most devastating fact of their situation, that, uselessly, they will always love each other. It’s like breathing, loving Mingyu, natural, something he does to survive. Minghao doesn’t know a life without it, doesn’t want to, no matter how much deeper and expansive the abyss gets between him and the boy that he undoubtedly loves with everything in him.

The silence is slightly less uncomfortable as they walk into the woods, surrounded by small chirps, bristling of leaves against each other, the soft hum of the insects that come alive in the summer time. All of a sudden, and yet, not so suddenly at all, Mingyu stops. His hands are at his side, but he’s looking all around, taking in the forest like it was the first time he’s seen it. Minghao feels like it is, seeing it with new eyes, eyes that don’t have Mingyu Kim beside his side. He feels like a whole new person sometimes, but, he looks over at Mingyu, and he feels eight again, then thirteen, then fifteen, then seventeen. No less in love with him than the year before, more, at that.

Mingyu steps off the road, walking towards a tree on the right of them, hidden ever so slightly behind a few taller ones, and Minghao’s breath catches in his throat. The tree is barely taller than Mingyu, as it curves at practically a ninety degree angle, long branches parallel with the ground beneath it. It has slightly smaller branches that almost curl into a perfect coil, coming off of the larger ones. Its white flowers are in full bloom, dotting the leaves daintily. 

Minghao had found this tree when they were ten, and Mingyu had immediately declared it to be magical in nature. Every Friday (which they had determined to be fairy day, for the alliteration, of course), before biking down to the treehouse, they would stop at the tree, leaving small bits of dried fruits and flowers in the small hollow in the center of the tree’s narrow trunk, as offerings to the fairies they swore inhabited it. 

Minghao follows Mingyu hesitantly as he approaches the tree, running his fingers gently down the trunk, over the hollow, just underneath it, where he stops his journey. He strokes over the engraving there, the M + M they carved their junior year, encased with a heart, a promise to hold onto each other for forever, in any way they can. 

Minghao stands a sizeable distance away, always away, before taking the slightest step closer, watching curiously as Mingyu’s large palm rests on the bark of the tree, just over their initials, as if he’s trying to absorb the love they left in the wood, revive it in himself. Or, instead, preserve it, what’s left of it. Because, Mingyu could never stop loving Minghao, no matter how hard he tries. It’s the truth that’s deafeningly loud in the silence, as they stand in the forest, in front of the tree, that they made theirs. Once upon a time.

\---

Minghao thinks he’s living in a dream world, has felt like that for the last eight months, two weeks, four days, sixteen hours, and counting. He looks over his mother’s shoulder, who’s fussing over his tie, at the pictures of Mingyu and him, framed on his bedside table. It’s a set of photobooth shots, taken on their second _official_ date at the amusement park they frequented as kids.

(“I’m pretty sure we’ve been going on dates together all our lives,” Minghao says, when Mingyu pulls up in front of his house. He’s dressed _far_ too well for an amusement park, Minghao thinks, looking down at his own worn jeans and band t-shirt which he’s 90% sure is Mingyu’s anyway. “There’s no need to go overboard.” Mingyu pouts.

“I want to woo you the right way!” he exclaims, crossing his arms as he leans back in the driver’s seat. Minghao giggles and leans over the dashboard, cradling Mingyu’s cheeks in his hands before planting a kiss to his forehead.

“You’ve had my heart since I watched you prick your finger with a needle while _cross stitching_.” Mingyu makes a noise of indiginace. 

“You _love_ my cross stitching. Don’t even try to deny it.”) 

He sinks into the bliss of his reality, thinking how, a year ago, it wasn’t even something he could picture or fathom, the idea of Mingyu being _his_ , really his. And here he is, now, getting ready for junior prom with the privilege of having Mingyu on his arm.

He is somebody’s. 

He gets it now, he does, the desire for the boys in middle school to show off their pretty girlfriends (who are barely their girlfriends) down the hallways for everyone to see. He wants to show off Mingyu, his pretty boyfriend with the perfect _everything_ , wants to tell _everyone_. He beams in the mirror, wondering how handsome Mingyu will most definitely look tonight, gorgeous even under the shitty dimmed lights of the gym, eyes always bright, the eyes he always misses when he’s not looking right at them.

The doorbell rings, pulling him out of his trance. His mother squeaks and pats him on the chest before hurrying down the stairs to get the door. He turns back to the mirror, taking a deep breath, before heading down. 

Minghao flushes in embarrassment as he’s met with insistent flashes of his dad’s camera, his mom practically bouncing up and down as his dad takes picture after picture. 

“Guys, just come _inside_ , Jesus,” Mingyu’s voice rings in from the doorway. 

“Mingyu-yah, you have to do it _properly_ ! Hand him the corsage and everything, we can’t ruin it!” Mingyu’s mom replies, Mingyu sighs in exasperation, before turning around to face the entrance of Minghao’s house. His eyes widen when he takes in Minghao’s appearance, letting out a sharp breath and Minghao really, _really_ wants to kiss him. He walks to the door, standing in front of Mingyu, who’s biting his lip nervously. 

“Hey,” Mingyu says, softly. Minghao giggles.

“Hey yourself.” Their mothers coo in unison.

“The corsage, kid,” Mingyu’s dad says, shoving the box into Mingyu’s hands, who fumbles with it before clumsily pulling it out. Minghao quickly holds out his wrist, and the camera starts going off again. (Minghao isn’t sure how his dad’s fingers can move that fast) Mingyu gently ties the band around it, flower matching the one pinned on his own jacket, and Minghao feels his heart soar, far, far, far up into the clouds. Untouchable, unbreakable. 

He is somebody’s. 

After a _billion_ photo-ops directed by their mothers in practically every inch of his house, they climb into Mingyu’s truck, and Minghao finally, desperately, pulls Mingyu into an ardent kiss. Mingyu makes a noise of surprise before kissing back with a smile. They pull away, and sit like that, leaning over the dashboard in a way that _should_ be uncomfortable, their foreheads against each other, and Minghao can smell the delightful scent of his cologne, and it’s all, so perfect. 

Prom is much, much better than Minghao expected. He’d pictured himself lingering by the punch bowl all night, praying someone spiked it, so he could get through standing alone while Mingyu made his rounds through the gym, greeting everyone he knew, which was, literally everyone.

But, as soon as they arrive, Mingyu pulls him onto the dance floor, holding his hand out dramatically. “May I have this dance?” Minghao quirks up a corner of his lip in amusement, before taking Mingyu’s hand.

“I suppose,” he says, with a theatrical sigh. Mingyu laughs, the laugh that makes him throw his head back, and the muted lights of the gymnasium catch wonderfully on the expanse of his neck, (Minghao’s initial suspicions are confirmed), making Minghao’s heart stutter in his chest. He thinks he’ll go into cardiac arrest at 25, at this rate.

They dance to every song, slow and fast, pausing in between to sip on some of the (shitty) punch. Mingyu doesn’t even make a move to go seek out any of his friends, content, _engrossed_ , in being by Minghao’s side. Minghao’s favorite moments are the slow dancing, which he practiced with his mom in the living room for hours, intending to do _every_ part of this prom night right. But, instead, they end up just holding each other, Minghao’s arms linked around Mingyu’s neck, Mingyu’s around his waist, swaying back and forth to the syrupy song the band is playing. 

For those moments, Minghao forgets everything. Forgets where they are, in their shitty high school surrounded by the shitty people who don’t like him, who he most certainly does not like back. Forgets the daunting future, college applications imposing over him like a dark shadow threatening to consume everything in its wake. He forgets all of it, because Mingyu is in his arms, and that is all that matters. He’s flying straight into the stratosphere, off this Earth that has lost all of its significance to him, and Mingyu’s hand is in his. They’re flying to somewhere uncharted, somewhere they can make theirs, where everything is in ours, theirs, us, Mingyu and Minghao, no commas. 

He is somebody’s. 

They leave early, Mingyu claiming he has a surprise waiting for him. Mingyu drives him to the treehouse, because, really, where else would they go? “Go up first, I’ll be right behind you,” Mingyu says, a soft look on his face. Minghao nods, and sits on the floor, staring out the window, assured, never worried for a moment that Mingyu would ever not be, right behind him.

After a few moments, Mingyu crawls in, two paper bags in one hand, guitar in the other. Minghao tilts his head to the side, he’d never seen that before. 

“I made us some jjajangmyeon, for dinner. I thought about taking you to a restaurant, but I figured this was more, _romantic_ ,” he says, setting down the bag, pulling out the Tupperware containers and some small candles, which he begins to light. Minghao doesn’t know what to say, isn’t a stranger to Mingyu cooking for him, but this feels more profound, more affectionate.

“You’re going to burn down this damn treehouse,” is what he chooses to say, blank look failing to conceal the fondness that travels from head to toe. Mingyu giggles.

“They’re just for a little bit, just for this part.” He sits cross legged, and pulls out the guitar from behind him, settling down with it, fingers posed to begin to play. “I learned this for you, um, yeah.”

And when Mingyu strums the first chords to Paramore’s The Only Exception, Minghao knows, knows everywhere, most deeply in his heart, that this is forever. His voice is gentle, but raspy in a way that compliments beautifully with his playing. The strumming is clumsy, at times, but Mingyu’s eyebrows are furrowed in focus as he sings and plays, and Minghao is so, so, so, _so_ in love. 

He really is so handsome, Minghao thinks, drinking in his features like he’s looking at him for the first time. He doesn’t tell Mingyu often, not wanting to sound shallow, like that’s the only reason he loves him like this, because, in reality, it’s barely top twenty on the long, long, long list that gets added to every single day. But, it’s a fact that will always remain true, he’s pretty, gorgeous, beautiful, and _handsome_. Even at seventeen, leaving Minghao to wonder just how much more handsome he’ll get. He doesn’t think his heart will be able to stand it. 

“ _You are the only exception. And I'm on my way to believing. Oh, and I'm on my way to believing,”_ Mingyu finishes with a final, flourishing brush of his fingers against the still vibrating strings of the guitar. He looks up at Minghao, sparkling eyes looking at him in anticipation, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. 

Minghao doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t. Doesn’t say anything, just leans over, hands outstretched, Mingyu’s face fitting into them like the final piece of the puzzle, satisfactory and so right. He pushes his lips against Mingyu, who moves the guitar off of his lap in order to let Minghao replace it. 

They’ve never kissed like this before, always chaste, light, afraid to let it sink into something more, despite them both wanting it to. But Minghao puts everything into _these_ kisses, the deepest messages of his heart into the way he tightens his grip around Mingyu’s neck, allowing his fingers to tangle themselves in his soft, black locks. He wants to get closer, as close as they possibly can get, and never let go. 

“I want this forever,” Mingyu whispers against his lips, strengthening his grip on Minghao’s waist, like a promise that he’ll do everything to make his own wish come true. 

The feelings he’s experiencing are heating up his body to insurmountable temperatures, pure fire ripping through his veins as he kisses and lets himself be kissed. The love he has for this boy is everything, more important than anything else and he lets it surround him. He wonders, briefly, if it will consume him whole and leave nothing behind but skin and bones. It scares him, ever so slightly, that he’s prepared to let it do so.

Because, right now, he is somebody’s. 

“I want to dance,” Minghao says, pulling away, although his eyes are hungrily trained on the string of spit that links their lips together. Mingyu nods, and begins to stand up, before banging his head on the ceiling with a groan. Minghao giggles, caressing the spot beneath his hair gently. “Maybe not here, though.” Mingyu nods, lips jutting out into a pout.

They end up in the field, at the base of the tree. Mingyu’s pulled out his phone and is playing something off of it, one of the 90s bands he pretentiously listens to. He sets his phone down, and holds his hand out, which Minghao takes gingerly. 

It’s one hundred and one times better than it was in the gym, because now, it’s _really_ just the two of them. The two of them in their field, in front of their treehouse, them together, theirs, them, us, ours, we, Mingyu and Minghao, no commas. Mingyu’s tall enough to rest his forehead on the very top of Minghao’s head, placing a gentle kiss in the center, making all the hairs on Minghao’s body stiffen. It’s the smallest of gestures, but it’s so tender, so earnest, so _Mingyu_ , that Minghao cherishes it as much as he cherishes the corsage, the dancing, the undivided attention, the song, the homemade food, everything.

He’s not just somebody’s, he’s Mingyu’s. Forever, and always, until the next life and the life after that.

Minghao thinks he’s living in a dream world, has felt like that for the last eight months, two weeks, four days, sixteen hours, and counting. He remembers the day like it was yesterday, how Mingyu looked at him, nervous, for the first time in his life, usual confidence lost in the breeze, as he told Minghao the words that Minghao couldn’t even dream of him saying.

(Minghao feels his heart threaten to shatter all over the floorboards as he watches Mingyu, beautiful, effervescent Mingyu wring his fingers together, heavily breathing as a few stray tears fall down his face.

He reaches out his hand to brush away the bangs that have fallen over Mingyu’s eyes, resting his palm on the side of Mingyu’s face, gingerly, fondly. “Gyu, tell me what’s wrong.” Mingyu is fully crying at this point, words barely escaping as they catch on the breathless sobs.

“I don’t want to mess everything up,” he croaks out. Minghao frowns, shaking his head.

“You could never, do you understand? I will never leave you, wouldn’t dream of it, no matter what it is, okay?” 

“Not, not even when I tell you that I, that I stay up at night, stare up at my ceiling and fantasize about loving you in ways I shouldn’t?” Mingyu sniffles, before continuing, too late to stop now. “Not even when I tell you that the only thing I can think of when we’re together is how you’d look like after I’ve been kissing you for hours? Not even when I tell you how selfish I am, to want you this way? Not even when I tell you that I _love_ you? Because, I think you’re lying, I think I’ve messed everything up and-” He gets cut off by Minghao smashing their lips together, perhaps a little too rough, as their teeth clack against each other harshly.

They pull away with a giggle, rubbing at their mouths to ease away the pain that isn’t even really there. “I love you too, you absolute idiot. Always, I always have.”)

Minghao tilts his head up to pull Mingyu into a light kiss, not as passionate, borderline desperate as the one before, but the love is there, all the same. He closes his eyes, lets the Smiths’ There Is a Light That Never Goes Out flow through his ears, the one song he does, in fact recognize, for how often Mingyu plays it for him, sings it to him.

“ _To die by your side, is such a heavenly way to die,_ ” Minghao sings, softly, and although he can’t see it, he knows Mingyu is smiling, as he always does when that lyric passes by, because it’s so achingly true. If he were to die right now, Minghao thinks, he would die in the most beautiful, peaceful way. That goes for every moment he’s with Mingyu, no matter what they’re doing, no matter where they are. It would be, such a heavenly way to go.

Mingyu suddenly raises their arms in the air and spins Minghao around, catching him dramatically, making both of them giggle. If Minghao closes his eyes, he could think he’s eight years old again, listening to Mingyu giggle like that for the first time, the sound exactly, wonderfully the same. If Minghao closes his eyes, he can imagine the two of them being surrounded by hundreds and thousands of dazzling lights, sent to them by the fairies that Mingyu has attracted with his illuminance, the airy, magical sound of his breathy laughs. He thinks he can even see the faint glow, dotting the back of his eyelids. If he squints hard enough, if he really believes. Which, he always has.

“I wanna do something,” Mingyu says suddenly. Minghao nods, confused, but he lets Mingyu pull him to the truck, where he reaches in, pulling something out of the glove compartment. He breaks out into a run, darting down the road, practically dragging Minghao behind him, who’s laughing in surprise at Mingyu’s urgency. 

Mingyu stops in front of their tree, because, really, where else would they go? He never lets go of Minghao’s hand, heavy and warm as their fingers remain intertwined, walking towards the tree. He pulls something out of his pocket, and Minghao briefly registers it as his dad’s pocket knife. Mingyu unclasps their hands to rest his palm on the side of the tree in support, causing Minghao to frown at the loss, before he realizes what Mingyu’s doing.

Mingyu finishes the outline of the heart with a flourish, turning around to look at Minghao, eyes shining. They’re always shining when they look at Minghao, when he’s with him. Minghao stares at the engravement, trying to commit it to memory, wanting it to be the last thing he sees when he goes to bed, and the first thing when he wakes up, besides Mingyu’s face, of course. He doesn’t know what to do, or say, so he goes along with the deepest desire in his chest and pulls Mingyu into another kiss. Mingyu stumbles back a little, before leaning against the trunk, small of his back pressed right into their freshly engraved initials.

They kiss for so long that their legs eventually give out, and they slowly slide down the tree, bodies intertwined as Mingyu sits on the ground, Minghao on top of him. Minghao feels like they’re one person at this point, so close, so wonderfully close, Mingyu’s heartbeat, his breathing, in harmony with his own, so that they create one beautiful symphony in the middle of these woods that belongs to them, and them only, the leaves on the trees brushing against each other in accompaniment. 

The fairies sing along in unison, their lights shining through every opening in Minghao’s skin, connecting the two of them together, theirs, them, us, ours, we, Mingyu and Minghao, no commas.

\---

“I don’t even hate you, you know,” Mingyu says, suddenly, making Minghao blink up at him. And he knows, of course, because Mingyu wouldn’t be here, caressing their tree with such affection, such nostalgia, if he did. “I tried, so _fucking_ hard, I tried. I even tried to hate you because I _couldn’t_ hate you. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” He lets out a small laugh, but there’s no mirth in it, none at all. It’s cold, so cold, and Minghao feels like he’s going to get frostbite in the middle of July.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t think Mingyu expects him to. After a pregnant pause, Mingyu finally turns around. He looks tired, Minghao thinks, drained of all his energy that seemed to exist in unlimited amounts, and it makes Minghao’s heart ache with something new. The knowledge that he did this to Mingyu, that he’s made Mingyu cry God knows how many times in the past eleven months is a different type of guilt. He feels like he’s sinned to the highest degree. 

Mingyu walks slowly towards him, sticks cracking beneath his feet, but he pauses, just in front of Minghao, a little bit to the right of him, their shoulders in perfect alignment. 

“I don’t hate you, but I hate what you’ve done to me. I hate that I can’t forget you, forget how it felt to be yours, because it lingers through my entire heart, I hate that you’ve left such an impression on my life, that you’re the only person who can break my heart like this. I was surrounded by so much, I could’ve done anything I wanted. But my life couldn’t move on without you. Every single fucking thing reminded me of you. I hate everything about this, but I still, I still can’t hate you,” he finishes, voice so soft, but it’s not gentle in the slightest. 

“I wish you’d asked me to stay,” he whispers, after a few moments. 

He walks past Minghao, finally, their shoulders brushing against each other, and the touch, the touch he hasn’t experienced in almost a year, sends electricity through his body. He feels helpless, he can’t say anything, because he’s either already said it, or it would come out sounding so desperate, so yearnful that it would be beyond pathetic. He wants to get on his knees, let the dirt sink into his knees the way they did all those years ago when he thought loving Mingyu was a forbidden thing, and beg for his forgiveness, beg for his love.

The emotions are the same, the desperation is the same, as it all was when he was thirteen. Everything’s changed, and yet, nothing’s different. Mingyu is out of reach, a fantasy too daunting to even envision. Except, this time, Minghao has destroyed all the hope that could bloom, burned down the garden completely, did it all consciously and walked away without a goodbye. 

Unlike when he was thirteen, there is no _what if_ , there’s only a dismal mourning. He feels like setting down a gravestone by the tree, nothing carved onto it, the blank slate the only thing that needs to be said. Feels like holding a funeral for their youth, their love that seemed everlasting. That is, so tragically still, everlasting. For the corpse, the still being that sits at the bottom of their abyss, for the spaces in between their names now, terrifyingly, occupied by commas. Mingyu, and, Minghao. 

_And if a ten ton truck, kills the both of us. To die by your side, well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine._

\---

The TV in his room gives a morose beeping sound, indicating Minghao’s failed to pass the level. Again. He was startled by the rampant knocking at his door, the doorbell going off seventeen times in a row. He hears Mingyu’s voice, shouting his name beyond the boundary of the door, and rushes downstairs, in alarm.

“What, what is it?” he says, when he swings the door open, eyes wide in concern. Mingyu doesn’t say anything, just holds up a large, dark blue booklet, “Columbia University” in bold white lettering on the front. Minghao feels his heart sink far, far, far beneath the earth.

“I got in! I got in, Columbia, Hao, _Columbia_ !” Mingyu exclaims, jumping up and down so eagerly, so endearingly. Columbia has been Mingyu’s dream school since as long as Minghao could remember, took numerous visits to the campus, had pictures of it on his wall, edited his essays over and over, perfecting them, _dying_ to get in. Minghao offers a weak smile, as his mother runs downstairs to determine the source of the commotion. He vaguely hears Mingyu telling his mother the good news, her yelling with him in excitement.

But, all he can hear in his ears is the sound of crashing waves, shattering glasses, a horrifying crack in the ground beneath him as the rift that has always existed between him and Mingyu slowly opens, revealing a sliver of darkness, endless and all consuming. Wide enough for Minghao to cross, for now, but just barely. Because, Columbia is across the country, thousands, and thousands of miles away. The blue booklet Mingyu is still waving feels like an invitation, an invitation to witness the end of the them together, theirs, them, us, ours, we, Mingyu and Minghao. An invitation, welcoming the eventual, but dreaded, arrival of the commas, all their belongings in tow, ready to stay.

And Minghao feels sick to his stomach, not because of the reminder of the temporary nature of their relationship, because he’s known that all along, but because he is physically unable to feel happy for Mingyu. He wants to, more than he wants anything else, wants to hold him tight and tell him he’s so proud of him, show him in any way he can. But, he’s frozen to the ground, feeling so, so fucking _selfish_. 

Because he's always been selfish. Was selfish to let himself have Mingyu this way, let Mingyu have him this way, when he knew how it would end, two hearts broken and horribly unfixable. They love each other too much, for it to not be destructive. For it to not welcome the abyss that’s growing wider by the second, it’s all so inevitable.

“You’ll come for dinner, right? Tonight?” Mingyu asks, eyes pleading, like Minghao would ever say no. Minghao nods, and Mingyu leans down to kiss him, not caring about Minghao’s mother still standing right behind them. He runs back to his house, presumably to actually tell his _parents_ , because Minghao knows he was the person Mingyu told first. For some reason, that breaks his heart even more.

That night, they lay in Mingyu’s bed, side by side, hand in hand, Paramore record playing softly in the background, the air outside just a touch too chilly for the treehouse. After a few moments of silence, Mingyu turns his head, pulling Minghao into a gentle kiss, Minghao quickly escalating it by climbing on top of him. Mingyu makes a noise of surprise, but he readily goes along with it. And every touch of skin on skin feels like goodbye. 

\---

They’re not walking side by side anymore, Mingyu a significant distance ahead of Minghao. He’s looking down at the ground, watching his own footsteps flatten the dirt ever so slightly. The moment is filled with uncertainty, Mingyu seeming to be taking the lead, tired of Minghao’s passiveness. They reach their cars eventually, and Minghao feels his chest tighten when Mingyu opens the driver’s side of his truck, beginning to climb in.

He wishes he never came. Wishes he stayed at home, called his roommate, Seokmin, instead of coming down here. Wishes he would stop listening to his heart that constantly tries to get itself broken, like it's addicted to it. It used to be addicted to making Mingyu laugh, making Mingyu giggle, making Mingyu happy. Maybe, he thinks, the two things aren’t all that different. 

Minghao thinks he’s been living a mirage of a year, not wholly there, not really living. He remembers what Mingyu said, about his life not being able to move on without Minghao. It’s almost funny, really, how tragically harmonious their love is. Once, it was beautiful, a thing to be marveled. Now, it chains them to each other, unbreakable, untouchable. They tug at each other, so far apart, unable to meet, but unable to separate. Minghao’s life truly began the day Mingyu came into it, and paused the day he left. Or, rather, the day Minghao left him. 

He stopped thinking of Mingyu every day, after a few months, forced the other boy out of his stream of thoughts because he had to preserve _some_ of his sanity. But, on the days where the sun was out, sky was blue, and more significantly, when a few clouds lingered on the horizon, he would think of Mingyu. Not perfectly sunny, but not gloomy. A quiet, passable day, when he would think of what Mingyu was doing, how he was doing, still so fervently in love with him. 

He should, he _really_ should, get into the Jeep and go home. It’s getting far too late anyway, his mother will worry. Except, that’s not even true, she wouldn’t worry, because she knows he’s with Mingyu and Mingyu would take his beating heart out of his chest and crush it on the ground if it meant keeping Minghao safe. 

He watches Mingyu, sitting in the driver’s seat, the door still open, a silent question mark hanging above their heads, and knows he can’t leave. Knows that, by coming out here, he’s opened up a door. A door that hadn’t even closed all the way the last time he’d walked out of it. 

“Will you play something for me?” Minghao calls. Mingyu looks up, stares at him from behind the windshield. He doesn’t say anything, just reaches into the backseat, pulls out the guitar, and makes his way to the bed of the truck. Minghao follows, feet crunching on the dirt as he hops up onto the edge. Minghao’s old bandana is wrapped loosely around the neck of the guitar, it makes Minghao feel some indiscernible type of way. Mingyu positions his fingers, adjusts his grip, ready to play the only song he wants to play, and the only song Minghao wants to hear.

It’s almost funny, really, how tragically harmonious their love is. 

\---

The chirping of the cicadas fills the silence in the treehouse, their noises almost vexing as the two of them keep their eyes trained on the floorboard. August was a forbidden thought, for them, ever since Mingyu’s acceptance came in the mail, and now, it’s just four weeks away. Four weeks of them, of their youth, left.

“Hao, I, I made a list of some art colleges in New York that do rolling admissions. So, you could apply and go in the winter! I know, it’s sudden, but it’s so much better than long distance, right?” Mingyu had said, earlier, when they’d first gotten to the treehouse. He held out a set of papers, names of colleges with brief summaries attached. Minghao didn’t take them, just looked up at Mingyu with a sad smile that said a thousand words.

“Mingyu, love, you know I can’t.” Trust Mingyu to always try and find a way, even when hope is clearly a lost cause, trust Mingyu to always go and try and search for it. Minghao thinks it will destroy him one day, if he continues to hold onto things that are so far gone.. “Plus, I already committed, and it’s closer to home. I can’t go farther than that.”

Nothing about this night is special. After an awkward silence following Mingyu’s failed proposal, they’d finished up the pizza Minghao ordered, listened to the new song Mingyu had learned last night (he was slowly, but surely, working his way through Paramore’s entire discography. Tonight was, significantly enough, All I Wanted), talked about their days, kissed for a while. Nothing special, not even the silence they’ve fallen into. But, the camping lamp in the corner beside Mingyu casts a dim light across his face, and he looks like he’s ready for something. Or, that he’s waiting for something, not necessarily ready to face it.

“I want to dance,” he says, suddenly. The same words Minghao uttered over a year ago in the same place. Their relationship is one big series of parallels, a few simple principles that hold them together, always have. 

And they dance, by the base of the tree. The same place they danced over a year ago, to the same song, Morissey’s vocals more haunting, than soothing this time around.

“ _To die by your side, is such a heavenly way to die,_ ” Mingyu sings. The same lyrics Minghao sang over a year ago, but this time, he doesn’t smile, nor does Minghao. Because, it’s scary, the way they both almost want to. Want to fly away together right now, while they still can, while they still have the energy to hold onto the bridge that they can cross to meet each other. 

And it’s too much for Minghao. His voice breaks on a sudden sob, and he crashes to his knees, hands helplessly gripping onto Mingyu’s arms, catching on the fabric of the bandana, as he falls slowly to the ground. Mingyu falls with him, always by his side, holding onto Minghao’s hands, always, always, always, with him. Minghao doesn’t say anything, just cries like there’s no tomorrow, and oh, how he wishes there was no tomorrow. Inevitably, Mingyu follows him shortly, pressing their foreheads together as they cry. Them together, still Mingyu and Minghao, the minutes counting down above their heads. 

“Ask me to stay,” Mingyu whispers, tears still streaming down his face. Minghao shakes his head, then cups Mingyu’s cheek gently, looks up into his eyes, which are, of course, shining, so bright, all of the sky’s stars finding their home in his heart, reflected through the way he looks at Minghao. 

“I can’t, love, I can’t,” he whispers back, causing Mingyu to close his eyes and cry softly again. Minghao lifts his other hand up, cups the other cheek with it, stroking his thumb fondly against Mingyu’s soft skin. Mingyu opens his eyes again, suddenly, something wild in his gaze.

“Then, have me again, just have me, now,” he says, desperately. Minghao furrows his eyebrows, but he nods. 

They stand up, and walk hand in hand towards the truck. Minghao mindlessly pulls the pillows and blankets stacked in the corner of the bed, lays them down, as comforting as possible. Mingyu lies down, letting Minghao undress him so tenderly. 

“You’re beautiful, please don’t cry,” Minghao whispers, running his hands down Mingyu’s gorgeously tanned skin, down his chest, his back, his sides, the inner parts of his thighs, all for him, everything for him. But, his words only make Mingyu cry harder, so Minghao leans down, kisses him everywhere, kisses all his tears away, catches them with his lips and brushes them away. Mingyu whines softly, reaching for Minghao’s wrist, a silent plea, and really, who is Minghao to deny him anything?

He touches him so carefully, like he’s touching something made of glass, because that’s just how precious Mingyu is to him. And every touch of skin on skin feels like goodbye. Pushing in ever so slowly, Minghao groans at the feeling, nerves on fire. He kisses Mingyu the whole time, swallowing up each small noise that comes with every movement of his hips, drinking them up like it’s his last meal. It might as well be. 

He looks down at Mingyu, eyes scrunched closed, lip worried under his sharp canines, blush high on his cheeks, and he feels breathless, feels like his love is going to consume him whole, the feeling rising in his chest as he moves faster, in tune with the other feeling curling at the base of his stomach. They come together, foreheads pressed together, lips ghosting each other, just a breath apart. 

They lay like that, for far too long, the feeling beginning to get slightly uncomfortable, but neither of them care. Everything feels like a last, a goodbye, even though it shouldn’t, because they have four weeks left. They should have four weeks left, Minghao thinks, wondering why every cell in his body is begging him to stay like this for just a few moments more, as close to Mingyu as he can possibly get. 

Eventually, Minghao pulls out, kissing away Mingyu’s whine at the loss, before he goes to clean them up, dressing them again, pressing chaste kisses to every spot of skin before he pulls the fabric over it. He climbs back into the bed, next to Mingyu, pulling the covers over the two of them, burying his head underneath Mingyu’s neck, on top of his shoulder. Mingyu holds him tight, arm around his waist, other hand in his. They lay in silence, staring up at the night sky which is strangely devoid of stars, just expansive darkness. Minghao thinks he could get lost in it, the visual itself. How he longs to float up and lose everything in it, give everything to the empty sky. 

Mingyu’s fist remains clenched around hope even when he’s watched it slip through his fingers. He searches, and searches for something that is so far gone. So, they’ve never talked about what happens when that fateful day in August comes around, how they’ll cope as the days and weeks go by, without seeing each other, thousands and thousands of miles apart. What they’ll do about the abyss that grows deeper, their will to keep trying fading even faster. 

Loving someone this much is destructive, a fact Minghao has known all along, since he scraped his knees trying to run away from it when he was thirteen, since Mingyu sang to him for the first time when he was sixteen and he couldn’t do anything but let it eat him, since he saw Mingyu hold up the invitation to their end four months ago. The destruction it threatens is inevitable, and Minghao is so scared of it, scared of it catching him by surprise, scared of watching it push forward helplessly. And fear with love, hand in hand, is something even more destructive than the two just on their own. 

“D’you think you’ll be happy, six months down the road?” Minghao asks, turning to face Mingyu. Mingyu doesn’t meet his eyes, just makes a small questioning hum. “Being with me, through video calls and two week long breaks. Is that going to make you happy?” That gets Mingyu to turn to him, face scrunched in confusion.

“What? Where’s this coming from, Minghao?” he asks, and Minghao gives a small, cold laugh.

“ _Where’s this coming from?_ It’s always been here, Mingyu, and we can’t just ignore it for forever.” 

“We’re not ignoring it, I just thought it was a given. I mean, what needs to be talked about?” Minghao wants to groan in frustration, wonders how Mingyu is just able to look past everything when it’s the very thought that’s plagued him for months. For years, even.

“ _Everything_ . You’re going to, to New York City! Are you kidding me, you have everything at your feet! Don’t you, don’t you think you’re going to get tired of this, of _me_ , holding you down?” he says, incredulously, almost crazed, waving his hands around as if to express the vastness of Mingyu’s future, the future that has no room for Minghao.

“No, no I don’t,” Mingyu says, stubbornly, sitting up. “I love you,” he adds in a whisper, as if that explains everything. Shouldn’t it? 

“I do too, I do.”

“Isn’t that enough, then?”

Minghao sits still for a moment. Because, shouldn’t it be? Love is destructive, but it’s powerful. Isn’t it enough to keep them going? But then he thinks, he thinks of what his life could look like in three months, missed calls from either side, Mingyu eventually having no time to call him at all, Minghao sitting in his dreary dorm 45 minutes away from home, staring at their chat, waiting, waiting, scrolling through old texts of Mingyu telling him how much he loves him, longing for their youth, longing for the treehouse. Watching his heart get broken in front of him, helplessly, watching Mingyu forget about him as he fulfills his life’s potential. 

So, he shakes his head. “I don’t think it is, I don’t think it can be.”

Mingyu looks desperate at this point, throwing the covers off, wobbling the truck in his haste. “So what, what are you saying? Is this i-it?” He’s stuttering now, tears welling in his eyes. Minghao tears his eyes away, choosing to look out beyond Mingyu’s face and at the field, the field that travels out into the horizon, endless and vast.

“I don’t know, I- All I know is I can’t, I can’t be in a relationship where I’m just waiting behind a screen, barely seeing you, watching you outgrow me.”

“I could never fall out of love with you, Minghao, I couldn’t, what are you even saying?” The lisp is more noticeable as Mingyu practically trips over his words, pleading, begging. He looks absolutely devastated, so desperate to hold on, and Minghao feels the guilt and regret coursing through his veins, screaming at him to turn back, call this whole conversation off and pull Mingyu into a kiss and stay by his side now, while he can. 

“I didn’t say fall out of love, I said _outgrow_. I can’t watch you outgrow me,” Minghao says. 

“You don’t even know! You didn’t even try!” 

“Sometimes, you just know, you know how things are going to end.” Mingyu’s crying again, his lips part and close, at a complete loss for words. 

“How, how can you? Why? Please, please just-” he sputters out, words getting lost in his sobs. He crawls over to Minghao, grasps at his hands. “Ask me to stay, ask me to, and I will. I’ll enroll in community college here, and it’ll be totally fine. Just, all you have to do is ask.”

Minghao shakes his head slowly. “I can’t do that to you. But _I_ can’t, I won’t be happy with being with you like this.”

They’re silent for a while, and for the first time, it’s terribly uncomfortable. Mingyu continues to cry silently, small huffs and sniffles escaping him as Minghao lets numbness overcome him so he can try and get through what he already knows now will be the worst moment of his life. He’s in the middle of breaking Mingyu’s heart, consciously doing so. It’s like drinking the blood of a unicorn, slaying an angel, something forbidden, an unthinkable crime. 

“I, we don’t have to stop talking to each other all together. We can still be friends, of course.” And much to Minghao’s surprise, Mingyu actually _laughs_ , throws his head back and laughs so hard that when he comes up, he’s shaking his head, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You must’ve actually lost your fucking mind.” Minghao winces at the curse word, because, even in the twelfth grade, Mingyu still never swears. “You think I could ever be just friends with you? Do you think we’ve _ever_ been just friends? It would kill me, destroy me to just be friends with you and not be allowed to let it be anything more. It almost did, when we were kids.”

“Jesus, I must really love you so much more than you love me for you to ever think something like that. Always thought I did, but, but it never mattered to me, because loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done and I don’t ever, ever regret it. I’d do it through anything. I just, I thought maybe you’d love me enough to try this for me, for us. I really am so fucking naive, huh? Always had you to guide me through it, show me the right way, but when it’s you who-”

He pauses, his voice breaking on another sob, and chooses not to finish the sentence. Minghao doesn’t say anything either, lets Mingyu’s words and insecurities wash over him and it’s the most heartbreaking thing he’s ever heard in the world. All he wants to do is shake his head, tell Mingyu how much he loves him for hours, make him sit there and listen until the sun comes up.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in a whisper so soft he doesn’t know if Mingyu even hears it. He hops out of the bed, and walks past the truck, past the treehouse, to the woods, dirt cracking beneath his feet. By the tree, their tree, each step feeling like a promise broken. His feet pick up in a run when his eyes catch on their initials, feeling too overwhelming. He goes alone to his house for the first time in ten years, no one by his side, Mingyu, not by his side. 

He is nobody’s. And they, are not a they. Mingyu, and, Minghao.

Two weeks later, Minghao awakens to a gentle knock on his door. He groggily glances up at the clock, glaring 3 PM back at him. His mother peeks her head in the crack of the door, looking over at Minghao’s still figure uneasily. 

Minghao has effectively barricaded himself in his room since he came home that night, turned his phone off and shut himself out from the world. His parents haven’t asked anything, Mingyu’s subsequent absence from his life and Minghao’s demeanor saying enough. It’s not like he’s never been this sad before, but Mingyu was always there, relentlessly throwing rocks at his window, or banging on his bedroom door, whining, like a dog who’s been locked out. He’d always glare at his mother for letting Mingyu in, but she’d give him a knowing smile, pointedly glancing down at Mingyu wrapped around him like a blanket, lively, comforting, warm. Just what he needed, because Mingyu always knew. 

His heart jumps when he sees his mom, thinking, hoping maybe Mingyu is right behind her, but he feels foolish immediately after when she walks in alone, shutting the door behind her. “Mail for you, sweetheart,” she says, resting a pale yellow envelope by his pillow, then going to brush his hair away from his face. He sinks into the touch, closing his eyes as she mumbles words of endearment, almost as if to herself, but he appreciates it all the same, lets himself feel like a kid again, just for a few moments. 

When Minghao is alone, he picks up the envelope, heart stuttering when he sees the name on the front. It’s his, of course, but it’s in Chinese, script a little clumsy, but still beautiful. They’d taught each other, years back, Mingyu learning Minghao’s in Chinese, then Minghao learning his in Korean. Minghao wrote it, rewrote, scribbled it on every surface, absentmindedly, often writing his name next to it, the two of them, side by side.

With a bated breath, he opens the letter, careful not to tear the envelope, Mingyu’s sloping handwriting staring back at him.

Minghao,

I don’t know why I’m writing this, it’s probably wrong to do after you’ve broken up with someone and maybe you should just fold this up and shove it under your bed, or burn it, or something. Stop reading here, because I’ll probably say things I shouldn’t. I don’t want to make you unhappy, it’s the last thing I want, and I think maybe that’s what I’ve been doing all along. All I’ve ever wanted to do was make you happy. Even if you didn’t love me as much, stopped loving me as much, it’s all I would want to do. Even now. I live for you, and it’s not right, I shouldn’t, but I really think I do. Maybe it’s pathetic, but it’s the truth, and I’ve never been too good at keeping things from you. I wish you’d asked me to stay.

By the time you read this, or at least find it, I’ll probably be gone. I wanted to leave early, because I don’t have a reason to stay. Time has moved so slow, without you. I’ve never been in this much pain and I don’t even know what to do about it. The past two weeks have been the worst of my life, and I wonder if you’ve been feeling the same way. I hope you haven’t, I really don’t, I wouldn’t wish this pain on my worst enemy, and especially not the love of my life. All I do is think about you, how you’re doing, and I want to go to your house and sit in front of your doorstep and beg you for something, to try again, to lay with me once more, I don’t know. I told you, these are things I definitely shouldn’t be saying. But I am now, because you didn’t give me the chance to before. I look at our old pictures and now that it’s all over I wonder if I’ve been delusional this whole time, to think that we were forever. I hope you don’t forget about me, though, I hope your memories of me are forever. And that they’re good ones, I hope you don’t just remember the end. But, I really, really wish you’d asked me to stay. 

I’ll probably see you again, just never in the way I want. I hope you take care of yourself, and maybe even find someone who makes you happy, happier than I did, at least. All I want is for you to be happy, even if I’m not the one making you happy. I’ll be happy, knowing you are. I love you, I shouldn’t say it, I know, but let me, just one more time. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll love you for as long as I can, even after I’m long gone, and I’ll die knowing I loved you all my life, without any regrets. I hope you remember it too. You are my only exception.

Yours, always,

Mingyu

P.S: Since I have no sweet flower to send you, I enclose my heart; a little one, sunburnt, half broken sometimes, yet close as the spaniel, to its friends. Your flowers came from Heaven, to which if I should ever go, I will pluck you palms. My words are far away when I attempt to thank you, so take the silver tear instead, from my full eye. You have often remembered me. ~ Emily Dickinson to Susan Bowles

I have nothing to give you but my love, all I can ask, hope, is that you’ve cherished it as much as I’ve to yours. My love is yours to have, just yours. Maybe someone one day will find this letter, and use it as their own P.S. I think we’re tragic enough for it. 

The paper crumbles from where Minghao’s tears have fallen over it, and he clutches it tightly to his chest, as if he believes hard enough, Mingyu will spring out of it and be holding him instead.

He is somebody’s, always will be. It’s heartbreaking.

\---

Minghao closes his eyes as Mingyu begins to play, wanting only to look at Mingyu, his perfect, gorgeous face, but he knows it would only make him, really, the both of them, uncomfortable. Mingyu takes the song a little slower, puts his own ring on the ends of each line. Minghao closes his eyes and he’s seventeen all over again, listening to Mingyu playing this song for him for the first time, just for him, as he does now. His strumming isn’t clumsy, notes and chords committed to muscle memory at this point, but his voice is just as beautiful.

“ _And that was the day that I promised, I'd never sing of love if it does not exist._ ” Mingyu pauses, ever so slightly, before singing the next line, beginning the chorus, the promise. “ _But, darling. You are the only exception._ ”

He yearns, Minghao yearns. There’s an invisible string forming in the center of his chest and it’s being tugged, pulled, _heaved_ towards Mingyu and the sound of his voice. Minghao physically finds himself moving closer, his shoulder tilting towards Mingyu’s ever so slightly, as he sings, not just _for_ Minghao, but _to_ Minghao. He recalls the last lines of Mingyu’s letter, the five words more profound than I love you. He wonders if Mingyu listened to this song while writing it, knowing somewhere in the back of his head, that he did, of course he did.

“ _Maybe I know, somewhere, deep in my soul, that love never lasts. And we've got to find other ways, to make it alone._ ”

He’d never thought about it too much, Mingyu writing the letter. He’d read it over about a hundred times that day, then stuffed it into his desk drawer, brought it with him to college, brought it back, a silent weight on his heart. But not an unwelcome one, necessarily.

But he’d never thought about Mingyu, maybe because it was too painful to consider, writing it. He’d never entertained the reason behind the too often smudges of the ink that, leaving smeared words behind. Didn’t think of Mingyu deciding he had to leave early, to escape the town that has Minghao written all over it. Didn’t think of a Mingyu whose hurt was so deep that this was all he could do to absolve it, try to, at least. 

_“And up until now, I had sworn to myself, that I'm content with loneliness. Because none of it was ever worth the risk. Well, you are the only exception.”_

One of the things Minghao loves the most about Mingyu, perhaps, even the most out of them all, is how much he feels. He feels so much, whether it’s joy, sorrow, love, whatever it is, he feels so much of it because his heart is so big, so he can’t help it. It’s a rare thing, in a world devoid of compassion, it’s precious and beautiful, just like the rest of him. Minghao felt privileged to be on the receiving end of that much love, wondering what he’d done in a past life to deserve it, to be blessed with it. But, thinking of the Mingyu eleven months ago who’d felt so much that he’d written it all out, those words that were so achingly melancholic to the highest degree, Minghao feels nothing but despair. 

He wishes he could’ve taught Mingyu how to protect himself, protect his heart from feeling so much pain. He realizes, belatedly, that he’s the only one who could do so: both teach him, and inflict it on him. Tragically, ironically, humorous. 

“ _I've got a tight grip on reality. But I can't, let go of what's in front of me here. I know you're leaving in the morning, when you wake up. leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream_.”

Minghao is losing his self control, losing the grip his mind has on his heart still, with every new thought of Mingyu, his face burning in the back of his memory, his voice flooding through his ears. So heavenly, the first thing you hear when you’ve reached the gates of paradise. He thinks he can see the light, if he squints hard enough. He opens his eyes, turns to Mingyu, and it’s just as good as.

Mingyu has his eyes closed, lips moving around the words he’s singing _to_ Minghao, lazily strumming, but the love is all there. In everything he’s done, everything he’s doing.

“ _You are the only exception. And I'm on my way to believing. Oh, and I'm on my way to believing,”_ Mingyu finishes, resting his hand against the side of the guitar. He doesn’t look at Minghao this time, like he always used to, doesn’t wait for Minghao to lean over and pull him into a kiss. Instead, he stares down at his feet, ghosting over the ground, dangling slightly in the breeze, dejectedly. His face doesn’t give away any sort of emotion at all, like he’s succumbed to the numbness of heartbreak. Minghao’s resolve is crumbling in front of him, fading into the dirt like it never existed at all.

He wants to give Mingyu the world. Take the stars down from each corner of the universe and hold them in front of him, let them burn his own hands, his entire body up to a crisp, but it wouldn’t matter, because he’d be able to give Mingyu what he deserved, even if it were for just a moment. 

And because he doesn’t care anymore, because he physically can’t hold himself back, he says as much. 

“You deserve so much. I wish, I wish I could give it to you.” 

He watches Mingyu furrow his eyebrows, corners of his mouth turned down into a frown. “I didn’t ask for- I don’t need _much_. I asked you to just love me, and you couldn’t.” 

But he did, Minghao wants to protest that he has all along, has for eleven months and counting. Has loved him just as he asked, unwavering, with all of him. But, obviously, Minghao knows what he means, the word _couldn’t_ hanging over him in the air like the blade on a guillotine. It’s the hand wrapped around the gun, still, pressed to his temple. 

Mingyu hops off the bed, bunching up the blankets, opens the door on the passenger’s side to throw them and his guitar back in. “It’s getting late, I should go,” he says, nonchalantly, even gives a weak smile. Minghao feels sick.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t try,” Minghao says, still sitting on the bed, unable to feel any of his limbs for long enough to allow him to climb down. He’s staring out into the uncharted distance of the road, where they’ve never gone, never needed to go. Mingyu’s standing right in front of the truck, right across from him, the truck serving as the boundary between them. Worlds away, and yet, right there. 

Mingyu scoffs. “Sorry doesn’t mean anything after nearly a year, Minghao.” Words cold, so cold that if Minghao didn’t know otherwise, he’d think it wasn’t even Mingyu who said them. Minghao should leave it at that, should muster the strength to get off of Mingyu’s car and go the hell _home_. But he doesn’t have any strength left, it’s standing sixteen feet away, ten billion planets away, an uncrossable abyss with no bridge away, three commas away, and he’s desperate for it. 

“Would you let me, let me try?” Perhaps he’s taking advantage of Mingyu. Except, this time, he doesn’t know if Mingyu will even let him, will let himself be taken advantage of. The uncertainty is so terrifying, his entire body is frozen in anticipation for the next moment, blood freezing over after he uttered the question.

Perhaps he’s a terrible, horrible person, rotten to the core, for asking, even after what he’s done.

But, Minghao doesn’t think so, he thinks he’s just a lover, heart cracked open, searching for something to fill it. Just a lover who’s made a grave mistake, and is trying to find the hope to solve it. Just a lover, whose love is standing sixteen feet away. Just sixteen feet. Is it so sinful, so wrong, for him to want to go to it? 

Minghao hears footsteps crunching on the ground again, and the next milliseconds feel like hours. Mingyu appears, stands in front of him at the foot of the bed, and pulls Minghao’s hand into his, eyes shining, and everything feels whole. For once in his life, Minghao can’t seem to figure out what Mingyu’s thinking. He’s not smiling, expressions still lacking any concrete emotion, but there’s something there, something that says yes, that says you are my only exception, that says I love you. 

The abyss was love’s delusion, because loving someone this much is destructive, a fact Minghao has known all along. Volatility is at the surface of any relationship between two people that love each other _this_ much, beneath the surface is the security, the forever, that allows them to float up beyond to the undiscovered, where they can make a home just for themselves. They love each other even more, even more to sit in the heart of the storm, wait for it to pass so they can find the bridge again, to each other, to that unknown, yet already beloved, place.

The touch feels like another promise, a promise to dig together, for the forever, for the ticket to the skies. Or perhaps, not another one, Minghao thinks, but the same one. The promise they made when they were eight, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen, and now, nineteen, hand in hand, side by side. Always side by side, always together. Everything’s changed, and yet, nothing’s different. 

**Author's Note:**

> WELL i broke my own heart with this one!!!! jeez i don't even know what to say, so i'll just keep it short. i put a bit of my soul into this fic i think, so i really hoped you enjoyed <3 <3 i know i enjoyed writing it. (the it in question being a love letter to kim mingyu disguised as a fic)
> 
> stay safe and healthy dear reader!!!! until the next one !! 
> 
> [cc if you want to chat!](curiouscat.me/97babys)


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